


Ceiling Sleeper

by cranky__crocus



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Duct Tape, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2010-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/cranky__crocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark and Callie have a bet, which Callie loses. Erica has to be there to save the day - after a little fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceiling Sleeper

**Author's Note:**

> Coooomplete crack!fic. I got this idea randomly from a ridiculous conversation on Callica livejournal group. It's ridiculously corny, out of character and slightly meta. I wrote it for some laughs and steam. Don't expect it to be anything ground-breaking. :P

            Mark flattened his hair as he closed Callie’s door. He tugged down his shirt and felt a tug pull at his lips. That would teach women—or _a_ woman—to mess with his word. If he made a bet, it was for real.

            No matter how much duct tape was involved. Yes, even if it was a lot and involved a ladder…

            He laughed to himself and hurried down the corridor, eager to leave the scene of the crime. He could only guess what woman would next set foot in the apartment. Regardless, he wanted to be long gone.

 

 

Erica sighed as she fished for her mobile in her purse. She knew Callie was off—she’d checked with all the nurses on duty and even gone as far as asking one of the McUnit...Dreamy, she recalled with a roll of her eyes. If there was one unfortunate thing she could count on about Seattle Grace, it was that everyone knew where everyone was at every given moment—sometimes before that person even knew where he or she was going. She bit her lip as her fingers grazed the cool material of her phone; she plucked it out and pressed the side button to see that no, the raven-haired resident had not returned her calls.

            It was not like Callie to ignore a call. Erica recognised many skills in the younger woman, both surgical and life, and one of them included talking—useless gabbing included, especially if it avoided deeper issues that needed to be communicated...

            Erica went back to gnawing her lip despite the cold and assured herself she wouldn’t be thinking herself in circles if she could get herself _in_ the damn building. Which was ordinarily easy enough, given it required a few tabs of her thumb, listening to some rambles from her friend and then being pulled in by the chatty younger female. The most difficult portion she had to put up with was walking, which she had done, and now she was standing under the eaves of her friend’s apartment.

            Erica heard footsteps. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed, or her surgical equivalent of it, that the stomping feet did not belong to a suck-up potentially-future-prodigious cardio surgeon. It arrived in her head as the thought, ‘ _If I have to grovel to Yang to get into Callie’s, I won’t know_ who _to shank with my steak knife. Mass murder.’_

“Seriously?” the blonde heard in an unmistakably low and grating old-mean-lady-teacher-nails-on-a-chalkboard tone.

            ‘ _Death,_ ’ was her mind’s simple answer. She cleared her throat as she simultaneously booted all violent thoughts from her mind.

            “Did you have something to say, Yang?”

            “You never seemed to have trouble getting into my apartment before.” Yang’s features seemed almost amused. Hahn scowled. Cristina woman was looking at her with an expression doused in amusement—as if Yang for once had something to hold over the bad-ass cardio-deity’s head. As if said _freezing_ bad-ass cardio-deity wasn’t already shivering under some eaves…

            “Yes, it’s thrilling, I’m sure you love me freezing to my bones outside your apartment.”  Erica inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. The cold, it messed with her brains: her snark was seriously lacking. Mission ‘intimidate brown-noser’ would fail if she did not immediately increase her inner temperature.

            “If they get too brittle and break you shouldn’t worry much: Callie will fix you right up. I’ll just keep your heart beating…if I feel the right incentive,” Yang drawled as she stepped up the stairs—slowly—and inserted the key—agonizingly slowly—and opened the door—was this a slow motion movie? The younger woman spread her arm out to the corridor and dipped her black-haired head, somehow sarcastically. She urged, “Doctor Hahn, after you.”

            “Yang,” the older woman agreed as she dipped her head in return and stepped in. Erica shoved her hands into the pockets of her trendy coat and wished for the seventh time that day that she had remembered to bring gloves.

 

 

Yang strolled right into the apartment and didn’t bother to look for her non-friend roommate. The resident cardio merely secluded herself in her bedroom with a less-than-delicate and less-than-welcoming slam of her bedroom door.

            Erica thought she heard whispers creep under the door.  “Attila the Hahn reporting in to congregate with flying monkeys. Yang to Grey. Read dark blue danger zone. Mer! No! You are NOT ALLOWED to sexualize ‘dark blue danger zone’ just because you’re thinking of McDreamy in my ear, eww, stop…”

            The blonde woman zoned out. 

            “It’s, uh, it’s kind of funny she mentioned flying monkeys…” a familiar voice mentioned from an uncertain location. There was a small cough. “Because I feel like a monkey, and I’m flying with assistance…”

            Erica looked up.

            She wasn’t sure whether she should break out in barks of laughter or moan in sympathy. Her attempt at both failed, but produced tears of amused mirth none-the-less.

            “Callie! Callie, _what_ are you doing up there?” the woman called up.

            “Well, see, there was this spider that looked reeeeeeaaally friendly, and I was lonely, so I thought I’d build myself a platform and become friends with it until I had a non-workaholic friends who don’t work nine days straight,” Callie rambled, looking everywhere but Erica’s face.

            “You’re taped to the ceiling because I work too much. And not only is the pot _not_ calling the kettle black, this is supposed to be logical,” Erica murmured. She laughed. Often when things didn’t make sense, she was perfectly capable of scowling and damning any idiot causing the breach in logic; with Callie hanging on a platform from the ceiling, all bets were off for maintaining a strictly criticising expression.

            “Mark.” The word the brunette spoke was enough to speak dozens. “Although there really is a spider up here now, and I’m not gonna lie it does worry me, because I’m not sure it’s a friendly spider like that one who likes porridge…”

            Erica sat on the couch, crossed her legs and looked up. “Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet… Along came a spider who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away…

            “Why am I thinking you’re not capable of being frightened away?” Erica mused as she watched her friend with critical eyes.

            “I’d say that’s probably because I’m duct-taped by a plastic surgeon to a platform hanging from my roommate’s ceiling.”

            “Excellent description. Any injury from this would be laughing-stock material at Grace for a solid two weeks, three if no McMuppets got any action.” The cardio-surgeon took another look around the room and noticed the folding ladder in the corner. There were two poles protruding from the carpet up to the platform which had four corner poles journeying up to the ceiling where they ended in strong platforms taped and secured to the ceiling. Erica was unsure how strong the connection was; her mind was too regimented to fall prey to panic, however.

            She listened to Callie groan and talk; Erica simultaneously pulled the ladder to the centre of the room and secured it with an ottoman. She journeyed to the kitchen and found the scissors before stepping up the ladder and settling herself in a position that left her prepared to catch Callie and fall to the couch if something went wrong.

            “So you bet with McSteamy that you have slept everywhere in a house and when he asked if you had tried the ceiling you said it wasn’t possible?” Erica rephrased in fewer words and, as was her technique, a great deal less emotion. Her voice was amused but focused. She was halfway into Dr. Hahn mode.

            “Right. He told me it was possible, we argued, he showed me some pictures from his college days. He and his roommate apparently taped one of the nerdier boys to the ceiling for a while as a joke.”

            “That is so entirely shocking; my idea of his integrity has just plummeted…”  Dr. Erica Hahn—for she was on double duty at present—had cut Callie free from the platform boards. She didn’t relay this new freedom.

            Callie was talking again but Erica concentrated on removing her from the strange nearly-bondage position. She decided to go with the method for removing a Band-Aid from a whiny teenager: fast and painful, but over before too much havoc can be wreaked.

            As Callie was explaining that the new bet was that if she COULD sleep she won a new autographed CD of her choice, Erica yanked her off the platform. It was a wise decision: with the change in weight and distribution, the platform fell, similarly to the way Erica fell back onto the couch with an immobile Callie in her arms.

            “What the hell was that?” they heard Yang ask from the doorway. “And why was I not informed a construction site was arriving in my living room?”

            “It was Mark…” Callie began to explain.

            Cristina held up her hand. “For once? For once, I’m going to do the _wise_ thing and _not ask_. I will just expect it to be cleaned up and perfect the next time I come out.”

            Her head disappeared again.

            “And Yang finally does the smart thing,” Erica remarked as she watched the door complete the reverberation from Cristina’s forceful shutting.

            Callie broke out in a fit of laughter. She was still too tied with duct tape to buckle over or moves her arms or legs, but that did not seem to diminish her need or ability to laugh. Erica didn’t mind; she enjoyed the sound. After a while, however, her damn curiosity got the best of her.

            “What IS so funny, Miss Muffet?”

            “1, she won’t be out for hours. 2, she expects something _cleaned_? She wouldn’t remember what this living room looked like if I didn’t clean it every time she was gone.  3, she is so going to be chief of _something_ someday and 4, this whole situation, what the _fuck_?”

            “I was thinking that,” Erica confessed with a contrived confessional façade, “but with less crudeness and more eyebrow-raising.”

            “Do I get free now?” Callie whined. “My arms are still taped to my torso and my legs are taped together.”

            “Too eerily familiar to your trauma patients, perhaps?”

            “Oh ha, ha. I could pull your heartstrings if I wanted to.”

            “Because your fingers move so well for harping when they’re stuck with your lost bets.”

            “I have mean puppy eyes.”

            “I’m a cat person.”

            Callie’s lower lip dipped out enough for emphasis; her eyes took on a sorrowful but hopeful appearance. The lower lip quivered, the cheeks gained the hint of a flush and Erica could swear she heard the faintest presence of a delicate whine… Erica’s eyebrow shot up high, the arc describing at once her disbelief with the situation and her displeasure with her fallibility.

            If she didn’t do something soon, she would fall to puppy Callie.

            “I should be very displeased with you,” the older woman informed as she began slipping back out of her Doctor Shawl and into her Erica Poncho. “Your decision-making skills were not present.”

            “Oh, they were, they’ve just always been lacking,” Callie reflected with a thoughtful gaze. “But an autographed CD would have been killer.”

            Erica’s eyebrow journeyed up again. “I seem to recall you have enough for it regardless. Was it worth breaking a neck for?”

            “It adds to the draw, yes. And a gift is always better than a self-purchase from ebay. You shouldn’t be mad at me: you know I don’t always make good decisions.”

            “You’re right, I know. You married George on a dime and gave yourself away, you slept away the pain with Mark and you let him tape you to a platform attached to the ceiling. I’m merely surprised you didn’t freak out,” Erica responded. Her wry grin took the sting away from the speech on Callie’s sometimes-less-than-thought-out history. “I know your history prior to meeting this dashing blonde cardio Goddess has been sketchy.”

            “Sketchy? And wow, we’re flying the Erica Ego Jet today. How do the clouds taste?”

            “Oh ha ha. Next time, don’t let McSteamy tape you to the ceiling.”

            “Next time, freak out about my decision. It’s totally hot. Like jealousy. Jealousy-like steaming hot.”

            “We’ll have plenty of time for that. I predict we’ll grow close, you’ll freak out and screw Mark, something catastrophic will occur at ironically-named Grace, I’ll walk away from you and you won’t follow.”

            Callie’s face fell as she looked up from Erica’s lap, where the raven-haired resident was still taped. “Really?”

            Erica laughed. “Yeah right.  That would be completely implausible and against both of our characters; I’m just bringing the proper lesbian drama to the scene.”

            “Good, because I would totally follow you,” the younger woman assured, “and you just said the l word.”

            “Oh, the l word. Yes. That chain of events would just about match the writing for that show.” Erica smiled wickedly. She had been doing some sexuality-oriented research on Youtube and a number of other sites. Callie, who had caught her and joined once, grinned in return.

            “You know you’re torturing me, right?” the trapped female ventured at last. She wiggled her little fingers down beyond Erica’s legs.  “Still taped. Still immobile.”

            “Torture?” Erica gazed down with her eyebrow raised for the third time in the evening. “You have no idea.”

            Callie had the grace and sense to swallow and mumble, “Uh oh…”

 

 

Callie gave an audible “oomph” as Erica shifted her back onto the couch.

            “Are you prepared for torture?” she questioned almost innocently, yet there was a layer of wickedness and merged affection resting just beneath. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and naughty plans.

            “Prepared?” Callie swallowed. “Pretty sure I’m experiencing—”

            “Nothing, compared to what’s about to come.”

            Callie swallowed again and watched up with wide brown eyes. She was trusting, but she was nervous. She hadn’t seen the darker love side of Erica much yet.

            The blonde leaned over and left her lips inches from the other woman’s. Erica smiled, her breath delicately wafting over Callie’s now moistened lips. Their eyes met. Erica’s lips curved up on one side as they moved to form the words, “It shouldn’t be _too_ terrible…”

            She moved forward and brushed Callie’s yielding lips. Erica wasn’t hasty: she brought their lips together in passing, then kissed both corners of Callie’s mouth. The woman responded by trying to pull up and kiss back. Erica placed one slender finger over Callie’s parted lips, her eyes amused and intrigued. Hahn lowered her lips once more and kissed around her own finger.

            “Erica…” Callie murmured around the other woman’s finger as the lips journeyed away. Erica glanced over from where she was nurturing Callie’s cheek of cinnamon honey. Blonde curls shook. Hahn traced Callie’s lips with the finger already pressed to them.

            Callie made her second mistake of the evening: she sucked the finger into her mouth and bit below the fingernail gingerly. Erica laughed out loud and removed her slightly damp finger, gliding it down over the cheek she had been caressing with kisses. She blew on the area.

            “This only gets longer for you.”

            Callie gave a frustrated moan and attempted to free her arms of the duct tape; it held fast.  Her shoulders strained until she slumped back. Erica laughed once more.

            She pressed one more kiss to the younger woman, parting her lips for a mere second with a bubble-gum pink tongue, then withdrew and bit the plump lower lip. Erica removed herself from the area with the lightest of butterfly kisses; she moved to care for Callie’s open and unprotected neck.

            Callie strained, her neck extending as her face lifted, head stretched back. She groaned and bit her lip, unable to do anything else as Erica licked and nibbled down her neck.

            At last the scissors. She cut a perfect incision in the duct tape down Callie’s front, as if performing one of her delicate surgeries. Erica’s smile was wry.

            “Button down. Perfect,” she whispered as she circled her tongue down to Callie’s clavicle and traced them both in turn.  She dipped into the pulse point, sucked slightly and blew to cool the space. Her tongue trailed down and she managed to unbutton the first button with her teeth and tongue. She continued her thorough loving of Callie’s chest until she reached the younger femme’s bright red bra, the cups holding amble soft breasts.

            It was the first moan Erica released, at the thought of her future caresses and pleasing her deepest desires. The duct-tape trap and Callie’s shirt were peeled back to reveal the woman’s caramel front; Erica licked it up like the favourite dessert it was.

            Callie groaned and bucked up, her bra-clad breasts brushing Erica’s nose. The blonde murmured and slid her tongue down the expanse of stomach to the end of the incision near Callie’s jeans.

            “Er-ri-ca!” the Latina called out impatiently. “I will kill you for this!”

            “Your adventure talk, it turns me on,” Erica rebuked haltingly with a humoured grin. She ripped the duct tape incision down further to Callie’s knees and released the tape’s hold on the woman’s jeans. “This is revenge for letting someone else use bondage on you without inviting me over. Especially a manwhore.”

            “Take it out on HIM!” the other hollered, her hips slashing as much as they could within the confines of their minutely-released but still-restrictive cocoon.

            “Ah, mi amour, that would not be _nearly_ as fun,” Hahn responded as she licked her lips and popped the buttons on the jeans before her. She added, “It would also be absolutely repugnant. You are the opposite.”

            “Unlike you!” Callie huffed. It was followed by an intense moan as Erica’s tongue slowly followed the zipper, jumping down over lacy underwear. “I hate you!”

            “Oh?” Erica’s eyes flickered with her suppressed smile. “And what would you be doing, if you could?”

            “I would be removing your shirt and running my fingers through your hair.”

            Hahn stood, placed the scissors teasingly over Callie’s abdomen—cold metal on heated skin—and stood. She pulled her v-neck up over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor next to her heeled boots. The blonde shook her hair and mussed it with her fingers, dropped her hands to her neck and traced them down to her hips.  “Like this?”

            “I. Fucking. Hate. You.” The raven-haired female groaned and closed her eyes.

            “Oh no. I don’t think you want to miss _this_ ,” Erica whispered enticingly. One of Callie’s eyes popped open to peek as the blonde’s slacks slid down her legs and pooled at her ankles, which she soon freed from the cloth. Her fingertips traced up from her now-bare feet to her extremely pink panties. “That’s the way, Torres.”

            The restrained woman was bucking this way and that, sending the scissors flying in an attempt to let hot hips touch something, _anything._

            Hahn was back in an instant, tugging down lacy underwear and blowing waves against coarse curls. “Someone had a tsunami in her pants.”

            “Yes. You’re just a fucking natural disaster. Now clean up your mess.”

            “No, I think I’m going to be a proper government and stall. I’ll go get a cup of ice-cold water. Sit and watch.”

            “You wouldn’t dare.” Callie glared daggers, but underneath appeared to be enjoying the game.

            Erica stood and walked to the fridge, an extra sashay to her hips given she knew exactly who was watching. The woman paused to listen, just to make sure the whereabouts of another housemate.

            “Mer, you’re on crack! Izzie and Alex would _so_ not make it. Do you remember what happened last time? That was catastrophic.” There was a pause. “Are you _eating_? …Indian, really? I hate you. No, there is no way in hell I’m going outside to get food. I told you, McHardcore is here saving Miss Flails-a-lot-on-my-ceiling…and I only have cereal. Did I not tell you Callie was affixed to the ceiling? Well, OK, so I think…”

            Hahn swallowed a low chuckle and removed a glass from the cupboard. She pressed it to the fridge a few times, watching each ice cube fall one at a time. She filled the cup and stood sipping it, one hip against the cool refrigerator door as she watched Callie on the couch.

            “How can someone look hot drinking _ice water_?” Callie inquired, turning up her nose and trying to look away. Her sights soon fell back on Erica sipping ice water in her bra and panties. Callie was fair drooling. “I could use some of that. All over me. Right now.”

            “Is that so?” Erica purred, grinning like only an anthropomorphic Cheshire could.

            “Cold shower. Could use.”

            “Granted.”

            The blonde arrived in a few long strides and dipped her fingers into her drink as she knelt before the couch. An ice cube was tucked within her grasp as she removed them. It was placed between the hills of Callie’s breasts and slid down to her navel. The woman screeched.

            “Say ‘indigo scalpel’ if it’s too much for you,” the older woman whispered into her prey’s ears as her hands continued working. When the ice reached Callie’s southern hair it halted. Erica’s fingers continued, prodding down until they felt a warm wet greeting. She wet her fingers with Callie’s juices and teased the woman with gentle stroking.

            “My vagina should _eat_ you for this.”

            Erica laughed and blew on the line of cool wetness atop Callie’s front. The blonde responded, “I think you’ll find reality to contradict that.”

            In a flash the tip of her tongue was circling a peeking bundle. One finger found home.

            “Please! Please! Fucking fuck me, fucker!”

            “Your language is dazzling,” Hahn murmured, lips brushing folds and a prominent pearl. Her finger movement slowed and curled upward, prodding a favourite spot. At last a second was added with additional rhythm.

            Callie rode the hand as best as she was able, given her restricted movement. Her fingers scratched at the board below her as her neck elongated, chin back and eyes closed. Erica’s free hand moved up to her lover’s clothed breast and teased one turgid nipple through the enticing lace.

            When her woman was getting close, Erica slowed and smiled at the growl.

            “I’m going to love you when I’m done, but I hate your guts right now.”

            “Guts are fine. What do you think of my fingers and—” her tongue snuck out and slashed at Callie’s clit “—tongue?”

            The rhythm built again. On the third go, rather than dawdling, Erica upped her tempo and sucked at the sensitive flesh before her.

            Callie screamed: pure up, full out, no-restraints screamed. She arched so hard it knocked Erica away. The Latina was panting as she floated back down, occasional twitches still present in her muscles.

            “You okay, Callie?” Yang yelled from her room, not bothering to come out and check. “Mer thought you died.”

            “I’m fine!” Callie hollered back. “Big spider. Erica handled.”

            “You pussy,” the roommate called back, but she returned to her loud phone conversation.

            “Agreed,” the orthopaedic remarked. She opened her eyes as she realised her hands had acquired their freedom. Erica was standing in her underwear with sparkling eyes and scissors held in her perfect fingers.

            Callie pulled her arms from her button-down, sat up, pulled off her shoes and tugged her legs from her jeans and underwear as Erica watched. The younger woman plucked up her panties and Erica’s clothing, then turned.

            “Miss Muffet wants her porridge now. _Now_.”

            Erica was dragged by the scissors to the bedroom as she noted, “Miss Muffet is awfully forceful and impatient for someone who’s frightened of _spiders_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed the ridiculousness! (;


End file.
